Evening at the Manor
by MissSharpenedSpikes
Summary: A super short take on the murder mystery genre. Most of it is just flirting, though.


**While reading this, please do keep in mind it wasn't written as conventional fanfiction. Far from it. And it was never meant to appear complete in any shape or form.**

 **Now, proceed.**

* * *

"What kind of a murderer kills when there's a _private detective_ in the house?"

"An absolute idiot, obviously," he responded, narrowing his eyes at the body bellow.

What a sight.

Stark white, satin cushions and crumpled golden covers thrown over a sofa, tainted with a deep red. Soaked with blood, the cushions were oozing the liquid down on the waxed hardwood floor, forming a circle around the victim's motionless body. In some places, the sticky substance had dried, leaving a thin layer of crust behind. Shards of broken glass lay scattered where the lord dropped his drink of brandy.

What a sight indeed.

"You really enjoy insulting people, don't you?"

"As a matter of fact, Miss, yes. I do," came the flat response.

He stepped forward, broken glass crumbling beneath his heels, and leaned down to inspect the body. Multiple stab wounds in the torso and on the sides. Nearly everywhere in reach, it seemed. Nine. No, eleven.

Someone's had a rough night.

"Are you honestly so full of yourself, or are you trying to be as annoying as possible?"

She sat atop the sleek black piano across the room, one leg over the other, leaning back on her hands. A teasing smile played at her soft lips, eyes sparkled knowingly.

"Careful, Miss, your reporter is showing."

Pointedly ignoring her chuckle, he continued the examination of the crime scene. Every little detail was worth noting; particularly a missing piece amongst the ornate daggers on the mantelpiece.

"Would you lose the hostility? You know it wasn't me."

The company was gathering in the sitting room, waiting for the detective to come question them. Low murmurs carried down the hallway.

"I know."

The voices grew louder in his ears, echoing around the room. The chatter rose in intensity and then there was the sitting room again, buzzing with sound. Clinks of champagne glasses, shiny, false proclamations and polite laughter filled the air. Everyone knew everyone. What a better way to spend a night than in the company of _friends_ , wouldn't you agree?

He turned to the sound of heels clicking on the floor. Sure steps approached with great precision, each move perfectly calculated to catch attention, to show off just right, hips swaying in rhythm. She approached with confidence, champagne glass in hand, bright eyes casually scanning the room. She dragged hergaze to him lazily. Eyes locked. Held.

He waited for her, refusing to move, to look away. She came to his side, leaning in slightly.

"We weren't expecting you quite so early, detective," she said with a smile, eyebrow raised.

A pause. He held her gaze for a moment longer, before deliberately tracing the curves up and down with his eyes, knowing she was watching the whole time.

"Not all of us are quite so predictable, Miss Ritchi."

She cocked her head to the side, raising an eyebrow at his response.

"I beg to differ."

A quick glance around showed Lady Scott and her bulky son, Wayne, in a heated discussion with two of the family's numerous wealthy friends. The young man kept glancing around, however, not listening in the slightest. He kept fidgeting with his glass, erratic fingers drumming on the smooth surface. For a brief moment, the two men's eyes met from across the room. Immediately, Wayne stiffened and snapped his gaze away.

Lord Scott stood at the fireplace, pouring himself yet another glass of brandy. He called out to the maid passing by. With a curt nod, she gave a quiet response and walked out the room swiftly. The lord followed her departure with a distant look. Raising the glass to his lips, he went to join his wife's conversation.

Wayne Scott's younger cousin had yet to utter a single word to anyone, curled up on her chaise near the fire, peering at the company from behind a book.

The buzz began to fade away, as footsteps clicked down an empty hallway, leaving the fading glow of the sitting room behind.

He sighed.

"Well, now that we got this all cleared up, why don't we start with the investigation?" she exclaimed, hopping down from the piano.

"Absolutely not. I work alone."

The brilliant smile she gave him spoke clearly – _you don't really have a choice_.

* * *

 **Alright, I knkw this deserves some explanation. It just sort of jumps at you without a warning and keeps going...**

 **The reason is, I had to write a short detective story (the limit was 700 words) for my Creative Writing class. I spent a week trying to think of _anything_. Inspiration seemed to avoid me wherever I went.**

 **So I decided to simply write very low-key fanfiction. Really low-key. So much that I almost feel like this little thing doesn't even belong on this site, but I posted it anyways, because _Megamind and Roxanne flirting!_**

 **Well. I hope at least some of you enjoyed this.**

 **-M.**


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